


Silence

by ZenzaNightwing



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Gen, Post Episode: s05e04 Lars' Head, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 17:18:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11040720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZenzaNightwing/pseuds/ZenzaNightwing
Summary: Thirty seconds of blank space, thirty seconds of utter peace, of radio silence, of no dumb thoughts running through his head, of no meaningless chatter.Thirty seconds.Lars isn't automatically fine after everything.





	Silence

The caverns are quiet.

 

It's not the normal type of quiet, a delicious, free brand of silence that helps relax the muscles and coax the mind into a gentle, lulling tide of thoughts and emotions that blend together like waves crashing in unison against a shore. It's not the itching, uncomfortable silence that prompt people to start humming under their breath or turning on music, to remind themselves that the silence is not the entirety, to keep themselves from getting caught in the web of their own racing thoughts.

 

It's the silence of the canary in the coal mine.

 

Ironic, almost, since he lives in a cave now, surrounded by rock pitted deep with marks like coffins, scored with scars and blemishes too numerable to count.

 

It's dark, too. With Steven there by his side it hadn't seemed so full of shadows, since the kid always gave off a sense of brightness, a feeling of happy light that kept shining even in the darkest of moments.

 

He never did get over his fear of the dark.

 

Fluorite curls around the central pillars, four eyes closed and face passive. Padparadscha seems content to sit in the corner, delicately posed and not moving a muscle, not feeling the urge to call out any predictions since everything is happening as normal. Rutile meditates in one of the inserts cut out of the walls, heads leaning against one another and posture utterly relaxed. Rhodonite has wrapped herself in an odd four armed hug and seems carefree for the first time in a while, small smile gracing her lips.

 

None of them make a noise.

 

The silence is suffocating.

 

Nearly without thinking, he presses the middle and index finger of his left hand to his pulse point, a grounding gesture he picked up without thinking.

 

He almost curses out loud when he remembers.

 

Right. He's not alive anymore.

 

He runs his fingers through his hair angrily, tugging at a bit as he goes, exhaling shakily at the tiny sting he gets from it. He tugs it again, harder, and abruptly lets go when his eyes flicker to see the unnatural color of his hair, the kind he only saw on hair dye boxes when he went to pick up the orange type for his mom so she could 'keep looking young' still.

 

The one blessing about the dark is that his skin can still look the same, or at least close enough for his mind to skip over the difference.

 

He blinks hard to stave off the tears, curling up even further in the large alcove he's commandeered, dropping his head in his hands and trying to squish into a tiny ball.

 

His body feels foreign to him, almost ill-fitting, and his fingernails turn the skin around them white, leaving behind little crescent dents that turn red and irritated quickly.

 

He just wants to go _home_.

 

And yes, yes, he's scared, he's terrified, he wants to scream and shout and tear himself to pieces, because maybe _then_ he can finally get away from the mindless terror that hangs over him like the looming spectre of death.

 

Death. Oh yes, that's another can of worms. He _died_ , and then he came back thanks to some magical healing mojo. From what he could puzzle out, he was dead, probably with a broken spine or neck or something, for thirty seconds.

 

Thirty seconds of blank space, thirty seconds of utter peace, of radio silence, of no dumb thoughts running through his head, of no meaningless chatter.

 

Thirty seconds.

 

He's held his breath for longer than that. And honestly, that's all it seems to be. Him holding his breath, meant to be indefinitely, sitting at the bottom of the deep end and waiting for it all to dwindle into nothing, waiting for the water, the reaper, _whatever_ to take him away and just be rid of it all.

 

But no, he couldn't even _die_ right.

 

He scrubs a hand over his eyes, catching the drops of water before they can run down, the heel of his palm catching just a bit on the scar on his right eye. The one scar he still has, really. All the rest are gone, demolished by whatever fancy magic healing light Steven used, even the tiny ones from the various burns he got in the kitchen. The one over his eye just seems like a dangerous reminder, a mocking taunt, a constant warning, like he didn't have enough of that already in the pink on his skin and the color of his hair, in the part where his heartbeat only beats once every four seconds.

 

The cavern is quiet.

 

But his mind isn't.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I have feelings about this. I have many of them. SO MANY.


End file.
